


No Sacrifices Before Breakfast

by thoroughly_inktroverted



Series: The Single Dad's Guide to Raising Hell(spawn) [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Suburban Dad, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Deidara is a bright ray of sunshine fight me, Gen, Hidan is a little bitch, Konan is an angel, Madara is so done with their shit, Madara needs a break, Mentions of Izuna and Shisui, Mentions of Kakashi and Rin, Mentions of babysitters, Nagato needs his coffee, Obito does his best, Sasori is done with their shit, Suburban Dad AU, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Yahiko is a scared baby, Zetsu mysteriously disappears, just give the man a vacation, kakuzu is done with their shit, no beta we die like shinobi, oh yeah and Kisame should know better really, why wont Itachi get off the fridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoroughly_inktroverted/pseuds/thoroughly_inktroverted
Summary: Madara Uchiha's Friday morning began as it usually did - at no later than 6:34 a.m. with sticky hands on his face, heavy footsteps in the hall shaking the floors, and a high pitched scream resonating through his bedroom walls.(Suburban Dad AU)





	No Sacrifices Before Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/gifts).

> Here is a small compilation for your convenience:
> 
> Obito - 17  
Kakuzu - 16  
Sasori - 15  
Itachi - 13  
Nagato - 11  
Yahiko - 10  
Konan - 9  
Hidan - 7  
Zetsu - 6  
Kisame - 5  
Deidara - 3
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this little snippet! :)
> 
> This work is gifted to blackkat, whose work I've been binge reading for the past several days. A lot of their AU's were really inspirational for this! If you haven't read their work, you're really missing out, I promise!

Madara Uchiha’s Friday morning began as it usually did - at no later than 6:34 a.m. with sticky hands on his face, heavy footsteps in the hall shaking the floors, and a high pitched scream resonating through his bedroom walls. 

What followed was also per usual. 

He shifted and groaned tiredly, untangling his arm from the sheets and restraining tiny hands before they found their way inside any unsuspecting eyes or nostrils. “Deidara,” he mumbled, blinking the sleep from his eyes and trying to focus on his youngest son. “What have I told you about entering my room before seven?”

“Not to,” the three year old said. He flopped down on Madara’s chest abruptly, his sharp elbows digging painfully into his ribs through the sheets.

“Don’t- !,” Madara gasped, removing Deidara’s elbows and lifting the boy's light frame so he sat upright. The man grimaced as his hands came away as sticky as his face felt. “Good god, child, what is all over you this time?”

“Hidan’s tryna sacrifice ‘tachi again,” Deidara said in lieu of an answer.

Madara resisted the urge to pinch his brow, if only to keep the _whatever-the-hell-was-on-his-kid_ from getting even more spread on him. “And what triggered it this time?”

Deidara shrugged, reaching over to bury his hands in Madara’s hair before he could stop the brat. Tiny fingers caught in the tangled mass that was his morning curls, no doubt spreading the ick on his hands all through it in the process. He felt his eye begin to twitch.

“They’re crazy,” Deidara said simply, and Madara really couldn’t fault him for that logic.

Madara sighed. “Alright, you little beast,” he grumbled, swinging the child down smoothly off the bed, severe eyes softening at the resulting high pitched giggles. He flung the sheets off and stood, stifling a large yawn. “Let’s go stop your brothers from killing each other.” He winced as his fingers stuck together. “And find some baby wipes,” he added bitterly, wondering briefly why he couldn't bring himself to just _get after_ the brat.

"Kay," Deidara said brightly with a grin that could rival the sun in its brilliance and _oh, yeah, that's why_. 

The door was already cracked open, the white paint near the knob smeared with sticky red, and Madara pushed it open further with his foot before Deidara could touch it again. The child went scampering down the hall, making small explosion noises each time his feet hit the carpet. Madara followed more reluctantly, his limbs stiff and dragging with sleep. His dark hair tickled his bare back and shoulders, and he paused to tie the drawstrings of his red sweat pants as tight as they would go out of habit. One too many close calls had taught him that _years_ ago.

“Good morning, father.”

Madara turned his head, and there was Konan in the bathroom, deftly wiping toothpaste out of the sink and setting the scattered soaps and toothbrushes and assorted hair products to rights. Around her, clothes and towels littered the floor, the shower was a mess, the towel cupboard looked positively _ransacked_, there was an empty cardboard tube on the roll where toilet paper should have been and one of the boys had left the toilet seat up again. He took it all in without batting an eye.

“Konan, go get your breakfast,” he said wearily. “I’ll take care of it later.”

“I had an apple before most of them got to the kitchen,” Konan said, moving to gather the towels off the floor. She, wisely, left the dirty clothes where they were. She was the only girl in a house filled to the brim with boys, and she knew better than to touch most things that belonged to her brothers without a thorough deep clean. “Itachi was there. He’s-”

“On the fridge again? Yeah, I figured,” Madara sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “Just… go downstairs and gather your things. Help your brothers get ready. I’m sure they’re all headless chickens without you.”

Konan hesitated, shooting a troubled glance at the mess. At Madara’s expectant raised eyebrow and his outstretched arms, she reluctantly acquiesced, passing over her armful of towels. “You shouldn’t have to,” she muttered, her amber eyes troubled.

Madara stiffened, the familiar sensation of anger boiling in his gut. Konan’s biological father had been a real piece of work, and even after being with them all for nearly four years, Konan still needed to be reminded every now and then that she didn’t have to be everyone’s maid. And there _certainly_ wouldn’t be any painful retaliation if one day she decided she didn’t want to clean up after them. (On that day, Madara would rejoice, knowing that his girl was finally learning to be selfish. It was a unique wish for one's child - one not many other parents would likely understand.)

“Konan. I _do_ have to. That’s what I signed up for when I agreed to be a father for all you hellions.” He softened as she looked down at her hands guiltily. “I know you want to help,” he told her quietly, “but you’ll help me so much better by helping Obito get all these brats out the door before he combusts and having a damn good day at school. Understand?” His lip quirked in amusement. "Besides, helping me manage the house and the little beasts who live here is what Uncle Izuna and Cousin Shisui are for. Whatever would they do with themselves without us?"

"Die of boredom," Konan said, a rare smile gracing her face. "I'll see you downstairs." She slipped around him and started leisurely down the hall towards the stairs. She paused before descending, glancing back at him over her shoulder. "...I appreciate you," she said, her face twisting a bit at the awkwardness of it, then disappeared into the stairwell.

And if that didn't just _melt his cold heart_.

Madara stared at the place his daughter had stood for a moment longer, then turned back to the bathroom, lip curling in disgust at its state of disarray. He stepped in just far enough to dump his armful of towels in the hamper behind the door meant for _specifically_ that purpose, scoffed at his tired and disheveled appearance in the perpetually smudged mirror (those tangles in his hair would be a downright _bitch_ to get out even without Deidara's added grime), then hurried his way down the stairs. It was nearly 6:50 now. The bus would be at the stop down the street at 7:30, and even though he usually would _like_ to sleep until seven, something told him it was going to be a difficult morning for everyone.

An angry shriek and the sound of his dishes shattering on the kitchen floor only further validated that fear.

"_Shit_!" Came the hissed curse of his eldest son as Madara rounded the corner separating the staircase from the living room.

"Language, Obito."

Obito stood in the center of the living room, several childrens' backpacks of differing colors and sizes heaped haphazardly in his arms. He looked as if a cyclone had drug him out of bed. His thick dark hair stuck up and outwards in all directions his black t-shirt was wrinkled so badly Madara had no choice but to assume it had been hastily snatched up from his bedroom floor. Off his arm hung his favorite high collared coat by only one sleeve, his faded jeans held smears of suspiciously familiar red ick, and only one sneaker appeared on his feet, the other nowhere to be seen.

The thick burn scars covering the entire right side of Obito's face stretched as he winced. "Sorry you got woke up, dad. I tried to keep them quiet, but the boys are in such a _horrible_ mood this morning, and I just don't know what the hell's gotten into-"

"It's Friday," Madara said darkly. "All school children lose their minds on Fridays. Do you know the date?"

Obito's brows pinched in pain. "It's the 13th," he groaned, nearly dropping his armload as his body sagged in defeat.

Another ear piercing screech from the kitchen emphasised this, accompanied by the muffled sounds of a harsh scolding that could only have come from Konan.

Obito's full body flinch did not escape his notice, either. The seventeen year old had probably been trying to corral them all since well before Deidara found his way into Madara's room, a task that had scared off countless paid babysitters and bribed family members in the past. There was a reason Izuna and Shisui never came over until all the children had gone to school. Last time, Shisui had gotten stabbed with a fork for his efforts.

Madara felt as his cold, domineering mask slipped down his face like water. "Give those to me," he said, nodding to the backpacks in Obito's arms. "Go meet Rin and Kakashi. I'll take it from here."

Unlike Konan, Obito was all too eager to comply, passing them over with a relieved sigh. "Kay. See you later. Good luck!" Within a matter of seconds, he had tugged his coat on the rest of the way, dug his other shoe out from under the couch, and disappeared from the room.

As the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house, Madara breathed in deeply and straightened his spine, squaring his shoulders in that dangerous way that had always ended fights before his fists could and clenching his jaw inta way that never ceased to make a room full of people go eerily silent. He dumped the backpacks on the couch and turned on his heel to start stiffly towards the kitchen.

He reached the open archway where all the chaos was pouring out just as another of his sons came barrelling through it, slamming right into him. But Madara didn't move - didn't even reach down to steady him - and that was the boy's first clue. Soft brown eyes blinked up at him from beneath bright orange hair, widening as he took in Madara's dark, emotionless eyes, his wild tangle of curls, and the tense, dangerous way he stood with growing horror. From somewhere in the bowels of the house, the old grandfather clock struck 7:00.

Quick as lightning, Yahiko turned and bolted back into the kitchen like hell was at his heels, screaming at the top of his lungs, "_Dad's awake_!"

All commotion in the kitchen came to a sudden, abrupt halt. The silence that followed was almost as loud as the previous din as Madara stepped under the archway. "There had better be coffee, or one of you brats is getting your very own bed in the garden," he growled, purposely making his already deep voice reach down lower into his throat and chest for added effect.

The silence stretched on for a long moment. Nobody moved. Nobody blinked. Then, slowly, Kisame - the five year old sitting at the end of the table farthest from the door - turned his head towards the end of the counter and stage whispered, "Well, you heard him, Nagato. Get the man some coffee!"

Nagato, eleven, sat on the counter next to the fridge, his red hair wild and his violet eyes sharp to the point of cutting. Behind him sat the blessed coffee pot, filled all the way up to eight cups. He looked as if he had been defending it all morning, judging from the sticky red _ick_ covering his arms and clothes.

The boy complied calmly, reaching into the cupboard above his head and grabbing Madara's favorite mug - black with a smattering of white specks for stars and a blood red moon in the center. The only sound in the kitchen was of Nagato pouring the coffee. No one dared move until Madara had it in his hand.

Before Nagato topped it off, he hesitated, turning to look at Madara with calculating eyes. "Hm," he said simply, then reached back into the cupboard for a small shot of espresso and dumped it into the coffee with one decisive flick of his wrist. Then he slid down off the counter and approached, carefully handing the mug to him with both hands.

All eyes watched closely as Madara lifted it and took a large sip. Immediately, he felt the tension leaving his shoulders and spine, the coldness melting from his face to leave something slightly warmer and more weary behind. The room sighed in relief.

Madara closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the coffee, allowing it to wash over him. _Calm_, he reminded himself. _No burying children before breakfast_. He opened his eyes again, regaining an ounce or two of his stern composure.

"Now," he began, fixing them all with a hard stare. "Why don't you tell me what's going on in here so we can fix it? You've got…" he checked the clock above the stove, "...about twenty minutes until I have to push you out the door. _Start_."

"Kisame started it," Sasori said from his seat at the table, voice strained and face sour as he went back to what he was doing before Madara walked in - using baby wipes to try and clean the sticky mess off of Deidara, who sat in his lap refusing to sit still. At Kisame's offended gasp, the fifteen year old rolled his eyes and elaborated, "You hid Hidan's comb, remember?" 

"That was _you_?!" Hidan screeched, slamming his hands down on the table. Kisame just grinned back in response.

"Hidan threw a fit over it and started interrogating his brothers," Konan added before Hidan could continue his angry screeching. "He caught Itachi staring again, blamed it on him, and started throwing things at him. Obito's shoe landed on Vena, and Zetsu joined in and started throwing the china -"

"He kept yelling, 'Plate yourself for me, pigs!'," Kisame added helpfully, his gap toothed grin somehow appearing just as sharp as ever, even with both of his canines missing.

"And Itachi's been on the fridge ever since," Kakuzu finished, the sixteen year old's expression long-suffering.

Madara let his gaze sweep across the kitchen, taking in the shattered dishes and the splattering of red that covered the floor, walls, and concentrated especially on the fridge and the ceiling above it. A large part of him wanted to turn around, go back upstairs, climb into his bed and stay under the covers until the eventual death of the earth via pollution and nuclear warfare. Another, smaller part was making plans to blackmail Izuna into cleaning the kitchen for the stunt he pulled with the ex-babysitter, Tenzo. Both were rather valid solutions, in his opinion.

Nagato leveled him with a cold - if slightly pitying - look. "I guarded the coffee pot," he stated, and yeah, now that Madara thought about it, Nagato was his favorite. The child was a gift. A blessing. A _godsend_. The mug warming his hands was all the proof he needed.

He and Konan both got their figurative get-out-of-jail-free cards for the foreseeable future.

"_Suck up_," Hidan hissed at the redhead. Nagato just sipped serenely from his own mug in response.

Surveying the damage once more, Madara's eyes drifted to the space between the top of the fridge and the ceiling. Cold eyes deeper and darker than the night sky on a new moon and so similar to his own watched him closely, giving nothing away. Again, he recalled the phantom touch of his soft silk sheets and suppressed a wistful sigh. Lips pulling into a frown, Madara turned back to Hidan.

"You know very well what I've told you, Hidan. _Countless_ times. Repeat it to me."

The seven year old met his gaze with his chin up, his jaw tensed and his maroon eyes steeled in challenge. "No sacrifices before breakfast," he ground out. "But he just-!"

"But _nothing_. You know the rules. Now apologize."

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither giving way, until finally, Hidan relented. "Fine," he grumbled. He shuffled forward a bit, reluctant and just a tad spiteful, but he looked right into Itachi's eyes as he said, "Sorry, 'tachi. It'll be at least a week before it happens again."

Madara mentally facepalmed. "...Thank you for your honesty, Hidan," he managed, though he was quite certain a _week_ was wishful thinking. He gave it two days tops.

At the sound of half muffled snickers, Madara turned, catching Kisame with enough menace in his eyes to make the boy choke on his own lungs for a second. "Give him back his comb," he growled.

Kisame all but hurled the comb at Hidan, ducking down behind the nearest chair as it made contact with his forehead. Hidan's face went red, stark against the silver of his hair. "You _bastard_!" He shouted, grabbing a bottle off the counter as he dove around the table after him.

_Ketchup_, Madara realized belatedly, and winced. _The floor, the fridge, the walls… even Deidara…_ In one deft move, he tipped the entire cup of coffee down his throat, setting the mug down on the table with a loud _thump_. (Yahiko shrieked and bolted out the kitchen screaming "Zetsu, he's snapped! Run!" while Deidara laughed gleefully, appearing far too innocent for the situation.)

"Bleed, coward!" Hidan shrieked, ketchup spurting everywhere as he squeezed the bottle so hard it collapsed in on itself.

Madara caught his wrist before he could aim it more completely at Kisame. He pried it from his fingers, ignoring his loud protests and Kisame, too, bolted from the room, his laughter lingering behind him. "Out," he hissed. "All of you, out! Go wait at the bus stop for fifteen minutes, I don't care, just go!"

"Oh shit," Sasori breathed, his near-impenetrable apathy melting away for a single split second as he stood and grabbed Konan's hand, Deidara perched happily on his hip. "Let's go, idiots. Time to scram. Hurry up!"

Hidan pulled away from Madara with enough force to send him stumbling forward, grabbing Kakuzu's arm as he went and pulling them both out of the kitchen. "Cold blooded!" He called back over his shoulder.

"You idiot, don't aggravate it!" Kakuzu hissed, smacking him lightly upside the head.

"Can I take the coffee?" Nagato asked from his perch on the counter. He hadn't moved a muscle, and Madara had no doubt the brat _knew_ about his get-out-of-jail-free card and was playing it to his advantage.

"_Yes_," he bit back, harsher than necessary. _Favorite son_, he reminded himself. _The best. The brightest_.

Nagato nodded curtly as he grabbed a thermos from the cupboard and dumped the rest of the pot into it. Madara didn't miss the reverent way he stroked the machine as he turned away, leaving the kitchen as if it pained him to do so.

Nagato and coffee; star-crossed lovers to the bitter end.

Madara sighed and turned to the one remaining child. Itachi hadn't moved an inch from his spot on top of the fridge. He hardly even appeared to be breathing, and if that black gaze hadn't been trained on him so piercingly, he probably would be forgiven for presuming him deceased and moving on with his life. Unfortunately, Madara was a somewhat _decent_ father. He _loved_ his children. _All_ his children. (Ugh.)

Itachi was Madara's little cousin, and he was the newest in the household after just two months. He had no connections with the other children, and he hardly seemed to try… and even though they were family, he and Madara had never interacted before beyond one disastrous christmas many years ago in which Madara brought a boyfriend and was promptly disowned (bunch of bastards, the lot of them).

He wasn't sure Itachi _hated_ them. But, well, he wasn't sure what Itachi felt about anything at all. The fact that he was completely mute certainly didn't help much.

Madara stared back at the boy and repressed a sigh - he'd done far too much of that this morning, it wasn't _healthy_ \- and shifted, crossing his arms. "Look, Itachi, I know the other children can be downright hell sometimes, but they really just want you to acknowledge them. The more you push them away, the more they'll lash out at you."

There was a long moment of silence. Then, slowly, Itachi tipped his chin forward in a tiny nod.

It was the best Madara was going to get. Nodding back firmly, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen. The boy would undoubtedly have disappeared by the time he returned, and he had never once gotten a call from Itachi's teachers that spoke of anything other than perfect grades and attendance - except, of course, his outright rebellion when it came to anything that would require him to speak. But Madara didn't much care for that. So long as he was respectful and did his work, what did it matter if he just sent an essay or powerpoint in by email instead of presenting it?

The living room was, predictably, in chaos - albeit somewhat more controlled than the kitchen. The rest of the demons had grabbed their school bags from the couch and were now tearing apart the adjoining entryway in search of matching shoes that fit - the pile was quite high. Every single one of them was still covered in ketchup in varying degrees.

"Sasori," he called, making the mass flinch ever so slightly and redouble their efforts.

"Yeah, dad?" He answered, extricating himself from his siblings. His voice was cool and apathetic, but his eyes were wary.

"Where's the baby wipes you were using to clean Deidara with?"

"In my bag."

"Distribute them. You're all filthy."

Hidan's head poked out above his other siblings' heads, Kakuzu giving an indignant huff as he used him as a lookout perch. His violet eyes were vindictive. "You should look at _yourself_, dad!"

Madara glared back, then looked down. Hidan was right, his entire torso was covered in the red sticky splatters, standing out starkly against his pale skin. He looked like he'd gone off the deep end and straight into a killing spree. And judging by the horrified looks Hidan was getting for his comment, it was almost expected at this point.

He went to run a tired hand through his hair, only to freeze. Eyes widening in dawning horror, he brought the mass of curls over his shoulder to inspect. His blood ran cold. It almost couldn't be identified as curls anymore - or even hair, for that matter. The entire thing was densely matted into one large entity, absolutely saturated in ketchup. It left a thick damp trail where it hung from his neck to the waistband of his sweatpants, and his hands came back red.

_I love my children_, he said desperately to himself as his blood pressure skyrocketed. _I love them so much. They are the lights of my life. I would be miserable without them. They give my life meaning-_

"You fucking idiot," Kakuzu hissed, dumping Hidan unceremoniously onto the floor. "You just _had_ to point it out, didn't you?!"

"We were almost free!" Yahiko lamented.

Nagato took several large gulps of coffee, his face pinched.

"Out," Madara said, his voice almost a whisper.

Kisame shrieked and dove for the door, wrenching it open, his siblings hot on his heels. Madara followed behind as they fell over themselves, racing down the driveway. Madara stopped in the doorway, thunder in his eyes.

"I love you all _very_ much!" He bellowed angrily down the street, because he was a good dad and good dads were supposed to say those things, even with visions of holes in the garden and a spade in his hands dancing temptingly through his mind. "Have a _perfect fucking day_ at school!"

He wondered, sometimes, why he didn't just _get after_ the brats.

Konan paused at the end of the driveway as Deidara, holding tightly to her hand, turned back to him. His grin was dazzling in the sun's soft morning rays, his dimples prominent and his pale blue eyes brighter than ever. "I love you, too, daddy!" He called back, his golden hair mimicking a halo around his head.

_Oh, yeah_, Madara thought, watching as his only girl turned, leading his youngest carefully down the sidewalk as the neighbors gave him scandalized looks, both at his appearance and his shouting. His anger melted away. _That's why_.


End file.
